


never knew i needed u though

by wesnenski



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: But it's hot so he's excused, I mean Kevin is always a fuckboy, M/M, Praise Kink, Semi public dry humping, Shotgunning, fuckboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24652720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesnenski/pseuds/wesnenski
Summary: Neil can't sleep after an exciting away game. Kevin knows just how to help him relax.
Relationships: Kevin Day/Neil Josten
Comments: 10
Kudos: 96





	never knew i needed u though

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on Tumblr ages ago, but as I've since deleted my blog, I'm posting here for whoever cares to read :)

It’s seven minutes and thirty two seconds after 3 A.M., according to the blinking face of Neil’s digital watch. 3:07:32. 

33.  
34\. 

That makes it just over three hours since he climbed under his faded hotel blankets, and just under two since he gave up on sleeping. For once, though, it isn’t nightmares keeping him awake: it’s adrenaline fueled by victory, pumping through his veins like fire and ice and the burning bright _8 – 2_ emblazoned on the end-game scoreboard.

The Foxes won, and the Buckeyes lost, and Neil’s gut is twisting with something that feels an awful lot like _pride_ and _satisfaction_ , and, scariest of all, _happiness._

57.  
58.

Neil’s the only one in the room. He’s technically sharing with Kevin and Nicky, but that doesn’t mean much. Last he saw of Nicky, he was dancing shirtless on the dresser of the girls’ room with his jersey looped around his neck like a cape; knowing Kevin… well. He’s probably tucked into a corner somewhere drinking himself into a victory stupor.

Neil rolls over and stares at his watch again.

07.  
08.

Sleep definitely isn’t going to happen. His fingers itch for the pack of cigarettes on his bedside table, tapping a shaky rhythm alongside the hotel A/C. It takes twenty-six more seconds for him to give in. He’s tired but not sleepy, and he doesn’t bother to put real clothes on before leaving the room; he pulls his sneakers on and deposits his key card in the pocket of his sweatpants, then slips out into the too-bright hallway and blinks at the hideous patterned carpet.

The girls are just down the hall. For a moment, he pauses outside their room and listens to the muffled thumps of pounding bass and shrieks of laughter, considering—but the party was overwhelming three hours ago and Neil knows it’ll still be now. Instead, he bites his lip and follows the EXIT signs down the hallway, fingers trailing against textured wallpaper all the way to the sliding glass pool door.

When Neil steps out onto the pool deck, he’s anticipating the bite of the cool night air and the sound of water lapping against tile and the sharp sting of chlorine on his nose. What he’s not expecting is the acrid smell of smoke— too sweet to be cigarettes— and the languid form of one Kevin Day sprawled out across a deck chair, PSU cap askew atop his dark hair and joint cupped securely in hand. His eyes are closed and his lower lip is caught between his teeth, but he starts when Neil settles down on the chair across from him.

Neil says, “What are you _doing_?” and Kevin gives him a look that could be amusement or condescension or both. Instead of answering, he closes his eyes again. “What about you?” he asks. “They partying too hard for you up there?”

Neil is vaguely offended. The urge to snap at him is there, but he holds back because it’s only _Kevin_. Instead, he worries the inside of his cheek between his teeth and confesses, “Yeah. Too much noise.”

For a few long moments, silence drags between them. The sound of vehicles along the adjacent highway thrums in and out, up and down; somewhere on the pool deck a drain empties with an odd gurgling noise. Kevin raises his joint to his mouth and inhales. Neil watches, transfixed, as he holds and then slowly exhales, smoke streaming from between his lips.

“I didn’t think that was— your thing,” Neil says, gesturing vaguely. Kevin actually grins at that, slow and lazy. It’s so _un-Kevin-like_ that Neil’s eyes widen of their own volition.

“What? This?” Kevin brandishes the joint between two fingers like a tiny baton, or possibly a miniature magic wand. “I know, I know. Far more relaxing than getting pissed all the time, though.” As if to prove it, he produces a flask that seems to have been hiding between his legs on the deck chair. “Not that getting pissed is off the table.” He manages to unscrew the cap one-handed and take a massive swig. Neil is oddly impressed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he tells Kevin. “It was a good game, tonight. I guess it’s just—”

“Adrenaline,” Kevin supplies. “It was a good game. You played well.” He peers at Neil through lidded eyes, green glowing yellow in the wavy lights from the pool. 

__

_You played well.  
You played well.  
You played well._

For reasons unknown, Neil’s heart stutters in his chest.

Kevin asks, “Want to relax?” He swings one leg over his chair so he’s straddling it, facing Neil and holding the joint out like an offering.

Neil hesitates. “I’ve never,” he says.

Kevin licks his bottom lip, too slow. His hair is messy, tucked partially under the band of his hat. Neil can’t stop looking at it. “I’ll teach you.”

_Every night._

“Okay,” Neil says, and reaches for the joint. It can’t be any different from smoking cigarettes, really, and he’s had plenty of practice with those. At the last second, though, Kevin draws his hand back, lips quirked. 

“Come here,” he says, patting the chair between his legs. “I have a better idea.” 

Neil abandons his own seat and straddles Kevin’s lounge chair instead. He scoots forward until their knees are touching, and somehow the two tiny points of contact feel ten degrees warmer than the rest of his skin. “What now?”

“I’m going to shotgun you.” Kevin’s free hand comes up off the chair; Neil can feel fingers just brushing the curls at the back of his neck. Suddenly, his body is covered in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold. He shivers, then nods. Slowly, Kevin lifts the joint to his lips. His cheeks puff out when he inhales, holding the smoke in his mouth, and after a moment, his fingers grow more insistent on Neil’s neck. He leans closer and closer and for a moment Neil thinks he’s going to kiss him, but… he pauses, barely a hair’s breadth away, and exhales. It’s instinctive: Neil parts his lips and takes the hit. 

He thinks he’s heard before that you’re supposed to hold it, and he manages a few seconds before he exhales on a cough, smoke streaming back into Kevin’s face. “Sorry,” he rasps, eyes watering. 

Kevin only grins and tugs once more at the back of his hair. “That was perfect,” he says. “You did great.”

Neil flushes. He wonders how long it takes to feel the effects of smoking weed— if he’s already getting high or if it’s just the note of pleased pride in Kevin’s voice that’s making his heart hammer in his chest. “Want to do me again?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Kevin says, “I can do that.” And he does: Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. It’s like a dance, and before long the joint is down to its end and Neil’s lost track of how many hits Kevin has blown into his mouth.

The pool water is still splashing softly against the steps and the cars are still speeding down the highway, but it’s all faded to background noise. Neil feels heavy, relaxed, and he’s hyper focused on the shape of Kevin’s lips when the other boy says, “You smoked all my weed.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Neil is indignant. He opens his mouth to retort— but before he can get the words out, Kevin kisses him.

_Oh._

Their lips are slick against each other’s and they both taste like smoke. Neil makes a helpless noise into Kevin’s mouth and Kevin raises a hand to Neil’s face, stroking his cheek and his eyelashes and the corner of his lips as they make out. In between kisses, he says, “You’re so good, baby,” and Neil bites his lip to keep from whimpering. 

The party was overwhelming and so is this, but it’s different: every thought is gone from Neil’s mind, pushed to the back in favor of _Kevin Kevin Kevin_. Nothing exists but the slide of their lips and the hot press of Kevin’s hand where it slips under the hem of Neil’s t-shirt.

“We’re— we’re outside,” he manages. 

Kevin nips hard at Neil’s lip. “It’s like, four in the morning,” he counters. “And you’re— so— fucking— hot.” Each word is punctuated with a kiss. “God.” He leans back against the lounge chair and uses his grip on Neil’s side to pull him forward so that they’re sprawled together, chest to chest. In this position it’s impossible to tell whose heartbeat is whose.

“What do you want?” Kevin asks. He’s kissing his way down Neil’s neck, now, and Neil’s breath catches in his throat when he tries to answer.

“I— I don’t know,” he says. “You, I want you.” An hour ago, this thought— that he’d be lying on top of Kevin with a boner pressing between his ass cheeks— had not even occurred to him. Now, though, it seems obvious and inevitable. Neil thinks it makes more sense than most things. He fists both hands in the front of Kevin’s t-shirt.

“Yeah,” Kevin breathes, and spreads both hands across Neil’s ass, thumbs hooked under his sweatpants. Neil’s straddling him instead of the chair, now, and he grinds down into Kevin’s lap. His face is hot, and he knows he has to be flushed all down his chest, but Kevin looks feverish too. His tattoo is dark on his cheekbone; Neil presses a wet kiss to it.

Kevin says, “I’m gonna make you come, baby,” and thrusts up again. Neil can’t help the choked whimper that escapes him. Their movements are both frantic, now. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re— _ah_!” Kevin’s fingers tighten on his ass cheeks, and he’s coming in his sweatpants. He rolls his hips down in tiny, uncoordinated movements, moaning breathily through his orgasm.  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Kevin says, and then he’s coming too, groaning against Neil’s skin.

It takes them both a few long minutes to come down, breathing hard against each other. At some point, Kevin’s hat fell off; his hair is spiked in every direction now, in sweaty disarray. Neil thinks he probably looks the same. “Wow,” he says, and Kevin laughs. He feels suddenly bone-weary, as though he might fall asleep right here on top of Kevin in this lounge chair. “We should go inside, maybe.”

The sky is dark above them, though, and the cold air is calming. Kevin tightens his arms around Neil’s waist. “Maybe,” he says. But they don’t move. Somewhere in the hotel, the rest of the Foxes are probably still partying, or maybe finally passing out in corners or beds or hallways. 

Here, there’s only Neil and Kevin and the stars.


End file.
